The Coming Storm (34 page)

The lesson continued as they rode, Jalila checking her draw on the bow and how she held it. She made corrections. Elon and Colath made suggestions from time to time.

Jalila was pleased. It had been a long time since she’d had a student and Ailith was an attentive one. It also made the day pass more quickly.

Gwillim was well-satisfied. His lap was full and his life was fuller. His wife Danalae occupied his lap, her arm around his neck as they watched their children dance gleefully with the children from the village. Though disaster might rain down upon them at any time at this moment he was happy and bound to enjoy every minute of it.

The folk of the village had insisted on a welcome celebration, opening their hearts and their homes to his wife and family. Some of it was only sense – they wished him to stay, to keep them safe and so they wished to make him feel welcome. It was also a good excuse for merrymaking. Life was hard here in these mountains and not only because of the wild things that occasionally strayed from the borderlands.

It was simply hard.

Farming was difficult in this harsh land, for the earth was full of rocks and stones that were found by the plow but dug by hand, pried out of the earth with iron and muscle. Some folk raised sheep and goats, instead, but those creatures were preyed upon by more mundane predators such as wolves and wildcats. A fair number were woodcutters, who felled trees and split them into rails or whatnot, then dragged them on sledges down the mountain for the building of houses and such in the heartlands. It was dangerous work and far from healers. Reasons for celebration were few.

A piper played a sprightly tune and a drummer kept beat. There was a keg of the local beer, a  cask of the harsh local wine and a dipper big enough to fill a mug of either in one scoop.

Gwillim had a mug of beer in hand and his wife in the other. She looked down at him with a grin, a mug of wine in her own hand and gave him a quick kiss.

Ah, life was good.

The scream from outside brought instant silence to the revelers.

As one, he and Danalae leaped to their feet, casting their mugs aside. They both had swords in hand as Maret joined them at the door. Frightened as they were the folk of the village still quickly took up cudgels and mallets to stand at their backs and defend their own.

He went out the door first, with Maret second as Danalae at their rear darted to cover them. No faint heart was his wife, for she’d been a Hunter before they married. She’d set it aside for the children.

The woman who screamed ran toward them, looking back over her shoulder. Wisely, she dashed between them to take refuge behind them.

“Drows,” she gasped.

Looking past her, Gwillim nodded. He’d already seen them and his heart had gone still.

Four of the things closed in on the cottage.

With a thrill of fear, he thought of what might have happened if he and Danalae and the children had been there as they ought. If not for the celebration, they would have been. From the corner of his eye he saw his other Hunters – those who’d come in with Maret – take their positions along the cottages to watch from cover.

Four drows.

He looked beyond them out into the darkness and saw movement. His blood chilled.

There were more. How many?

Just the thought made his blood run even colder. Even what he could see was a lot, for this number of men.

He signaled his people to wait. There was no choice.

The door of the cottage cracked and gave way under the assault.

A drow went in, there was the sound of wood splintering and then it came out.

It wailed in frustration, a bloodcurdling sound.

The others sniffed around the road. One of the other drows looked toward them, then looked toward the drows who waited. Everyone froze. The thing growled in frustration, in hunger, and then it howled. The sound was chilling. Somewhere inside a child cried and someone hushed it quickly. The drow whined, shook its head, sniffed around the yard.

As suddenly as they’d come they were gone, running in that odd lope away from the village. Moving with purpose.

Gwillim let out a harsh breath.

He hadn’t wanted to say it then but he’d doubted.

Elon was an Elf, one of a race not known for lies or exaggeration. That he knew. Gwillim had been impressed with him. He’d trained at Aerilann itself, he respected him..

Too, Gwillim had known Ailith all her life and had never known her to lie.

Still, it had been a wild tale. He’d been a Hunter for most of his life and had met a clever orc or two, some sly kobolds and both goblins and trolls that were as nearly smart as men. But. They’d never been led except by their own. Never truly been directed.

Out in the darkness more drows appeared, moved past the village, the sound of their odd loping run clear, like a hollow drumbeat.

Gwillim’s eyes followed their path.

“They’re following Elon, Ailith and the others.”

A village full of prey and they had turned aside? To follow the path Ailith and Elon had tread only this morning as if shot by an arrow?

He didn’t doubt any more.

Both Danalae and Maret knew the tale, he’d told them both once they’d arrived and been properly greeted. Not about Ailith, not about what they said she was. That, he kept to himself. He didn’t like keeping things from Danalae but it wasn’t his secret and he couldn’t ask her to hold it.

“We can’t warn them,” Maret said.

Shaking his head, his heart sinking, Gwillim said, “No. A horse couldn’t outrun drows and you’d have to go around them. Nor will I send a one to try. They’d as like to turn on any that followed and leave Elon and them still none the wiser.”

He looked around at the thick mud walls of the village. Suddenly they seemed quite fragile.

With a signal to his men, he called them to join him. They grouped around him.

“Come morning, two of you each ride out to find the other bands. No one goes alone. Find Hunters and Woodsmen both. I’m calling them all in. Tell them to choose a village with defendable walls or ones that can be made defensible. Bring everyone in that will come. Make preparations for siege but also for escape. Set watches, torches and pitch, firewood.”

No one objected. None of them had missed what had happened.

A village full of prey and the drows had scorned it. Reluctantly but they had done it. There was no argument.

“For now, I want a watch set up at vantage points in the village. A clear view. Two men each. The remainder, rest while you may.”

They spread out, looking for vantage points and choosing the watches.

Gwillim, Danalae and Maret went inside.

Everyone there was silent, watching.

“Drows,” he said.

There were gasps, then silence again.

He began giving orders.

Already, Colath was sweating lightly. It felt good, though, after so many weeks in the saddle to move around on two feet. To have his muscles move and shift in directions and ways they hadn’t in a while.

Swords chimed as Ailith matched his stroke. They were only sparring, at half-strength and half-speed, a test of each other’s skill. Like bells ringing, one blade against the other. There was little danger in it despite the fact that neither used blunted weapons, Colath knew himself too skilled for that, and Ailith was proving to be equally so. They’d begun with the forms, moving side by side through the patterns and positions like dancers.

The group had stopped early to set camp.

It had begun when Colath had teased Ailith about whether she knew how to use the great thing that hung on her back. He knew she knew how to use the shortsword, certainly well enough to fight boggarts and firbolgs.

“Well enough,” she answered, with a hint of challenge in her voice, and a hint of question. “Although I’ve no way to judge. The one that taught me seemed to think well enough of it.”

Her eyes sparkled now, enjoying the challenge he set for her.

It was one for him as well, he discovered, she was quite good. In fact, she was very good. Her size was deceptive and she was surprisingly strong, matching him blow for blow. Testing her skill he could see why the swords had been gifted to her. Named swords were precious things, not to be given lightly. It took special skill in the forging, skill in magic that was bound into the blade to strengthen it and a swordsmanship not all possessed. He’d had a suspicion they’d been given as solace to offset deficiencies, a gift of affection, not a reward for talent or diligent effort. That would have been a violation of all that Named swords were meant to be, however unlikely it might have that an Elf would have done so. Given the circumstances, however,  it hadn’t been that unlikely an assumption. It was a suspicion he knew Elon shared.

They’d been wrong.

Swords met, parried, rang.

Jareth sat on a rock and lit a pipe downwind of Elon and the others, settling back against the stone behind him. It was a good place to camp. Clearly it had been used before this for the same purpose. A fire ring had already been laid and a small amount of tinder and kindling thrust into a jumble of rocks to stay dry. At his back was a slab of rock that thrust out of the earth, with more spread out on either side like wings. It blocked the wind and gave them stone at their back, which was always good.

From here he could see for some distance in the direction from which they’d come. The hills rolled smoothly with few trees but many of these large stones breaking through the thin earth.  It was stony but not barren. The grass grew brilliantly green and there were scatterings of thin, scrubby bushes. Where there were trees they grew in groves.

It was a pretty enough view as the sun settled.

Travel packs had been emptied and the waxed clothes that provided cover against the wind and dew had been stretched out on poles to keep the weather off their heads. Blankets had been laid where there were few stones – he smiled, remembering Jalila teasing him once more about his bad choices – and the fire laid.

As part of Ailith’s lessons in archery Jalila had set her to hit a few birds. As she’d said then, they might as well get some dinner out of it. It had taken a few tries and more than a few missed birds but in the end they’d gained a grouse and a pheasant. Both had been cleaned, spitted and put over the fire to roast. With travel bread and some wild carrots and onions it would be a good meal.

It certainly smelled good from where he sat, the aroma tantalizing.

Now he, Elon and Jalila watched as Colath and Ailith sparred. With edged swords.

For himself, Jareth knew was only a fair swordsman. He could defend himself with one against most men if need be and magic didn’t suit the purpose.

There were rules to such things.

One didn’t blast a man with mage-bolts who came at you with a sword. The reason was simple. You could disarm a man with a sword. Mage bolts killed. In any event, Jareth could hold a sword well enough but not well enough for this. He watched the two of them move through the forms and exercises and acknowledged without envy or concern that Ailith was more than a match for him.

This he couldn’t have done. Not without the danger of costing Colath a few fingers. He didn’t know if Elon could Heal such things, though, and he wasn’t about to find out. It was, however, fascinating to watch.

Whoever had taught her, Elon thought, had done well. Ailith moved like a dancer, as light on her feet as a leaf on the breeze. There were any number of Elves who could have done it. The use of a sword was something all their people learned as children, advancing according to level of skill. No Elven child couldn’t defend his or her self, though, they were too rare, too precious and too few to leave with no defense.

History had taught his people many harsh lessons.

There had been a time when the creatures of the borderlands had run freely throughout the land and the knowledge of how to use a sword and bow had been a dire necessity. As well, there had been times when they’d fought either or both Dwarves and Men, to defend their land or people.

Even in these more peaceful times, it was still a good skill to know. Not only to fight those things from the borderlands but occasionally those of the race of Men. Some few hated and feared his people and they’d been known to express it with violence. Although Daran had forbidden it and the Agreement declared it unlawful, few Elves passed through the lands of men alone and none unarmed.